Page 29 of Mirror Image

“Yeah . . . just a sec,” she said, eyes glued to the cucumber she was peeling.

But at that exact moment, the housekeeper swooped past her with the roasting pan, someone opened a cabinet drawer right behind her, and she turned abruptly—bumping straight into the counter’s edge. The cucumber slipped out of her hand, the peeler clattered to the floor, and she instinctively reached for a dish towel to mop up a smear of dressing . . . knocking that to the ground too.

“Ugh—sorry,” she muttered, crouching down to grab it all while everyone else kept cooking at full throttle around her.

Given how tense things had been with my parents, I knew she was anxious about meeting yet another person from the life I’d built without her. But with the tiny kitchen pileup, I figured she just needed a moment to collect herself. So I left her and ran to the door with a smile.

“Uncle Jules! Happy Thanksgiving!”

He stepped inside—warm, polished, carrying a bottle of wine and a small gold-wrapped box.

“Mary! It’s been far too long,” he said, pulling me into a hug. “I’m so happy to see you.”

Then, over my shoulder, he added lightly, “Ah—and this must be Samantha . . .”

I turned—and there was Sam in the kitchen doorway, looking like someone who’d wandered onto the set of a Hallmark Christmas movie without a script. She still had the cucumber peeler in one hand, but now a small mountain of parsley was clinging to the front of her shirt like festive, leafy confetti. A sprig hung from her sleeve, betraying the kitchen collision she’d just escaped.

Her eyes were wide, her posture stiff, her whole expression saying: I was not emotionally prepared for this scene.

Oh, Sam, I thought, guilt tightening in my chest.

Maybe I shouldn’t have thrown a brand-new family member at her right after holiday prep carnage. I’d been so eager to introduce her—too eager.

Julian merely smiled and reached out, briskly plucking the stray parsley from her sleeve before offering it back with a little flourish.

“There you are,” he said kindly.

Sam blinked, flustered. “Oh—um—thanks. The kitchen got . . . dramatic.”

“Holiday kitchens tend to,” he said easily.

She managed a shy laugh and stepped back into the room, brushing at her shirt.

Julian watched her go, eyebrows raised. “My word. The resemblance is remarkable.”

“I know, right?” I said, beaming.

At dinner, Sam kept mostly quiet, but Julian—warm and curious as always—did his best to draw her out.

“So,” he said, cutting into his roasted vegetables, “will you girls be returning to college for the winter semester?”

I felt my parents tense almost in unison—like someone had pushed a hidden button.

I smiled anyway. “Actually, no. We’re . . . taking the spring off. Sort of a gap year so Sam and I can do the North American Wilderness Academy program.”

Julian lifted his brows, surprised. “Isn’t that based in Washington State?”

“Oregon,” my twin corrected quietly.

“Well, my goodness, that’s quite an adventure!”

“You’re right, Julian, it is an adventure,” Mom said, her voice carefully pleasant. “Maybe too much of one. This program is—well—it’s very far away and very demanding. We would prefer Mary return to school in January. Perhaps you can talk some sense into her.”

Julian considered this. “Well, I can understand your concerns,” he said diplomatically, then turned to me. “Mary, it’s true. That program is rigorous.”

Mom nodded vigorously. “Exactly.”

“I like the outdoors just fine!” I protested. “And it’s not like I’ve never been camping in my life.”